


Never a wine so sweet and sharp

by BardtheStark4



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Drunk Sex, Elf Sex, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Hand & Finger Kink, Height Differences, Height Kink, Light Dom/sub, Love/Hate, Mild Kink, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Skyrim Kink Meme, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Voice Kink, Why Did I Write This?, inigo just being inigo, lydia being a good housecarl, ondolemar being a dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-09 14:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19478143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardtheStark4/pseuds/BardtheStark4
Summary: Never was there a wine so sweet and sharp as the love he grew to hold for her. As he stared down at her tiny body beneath the candle light, her golden skin glowing in a way that showed love between man and mer were possible, he found himself falling. He was truly lost as she gasped his name. For once in his life, he didn't believe in Auri-el, the dominion or every thing he'd come to know in his life as the head of the justiciars. Instead, he believed in his love for her, and how very slowly, it was destroying him.Ondolemar struggles to come to terms with his feelings for a Breton/Altmer dragonborn.





	1. The prejudice of a grumpy Justiciar

**Author's Note:**

> I've been fighting with the idea of creating an Ondolemar story for quite a while now as I love him dearly and I've finally managed to piece a few ideas together in order to do so. I hope you enjoy it, this chapter will be quite short but I promise they will be longer! Let me know what you think!

When Ondolemar had first met the dragonborn, the high elf had not known her as such and would never had imagined her to be the hero of legends what so ever. 

They had been amidst a summer storm the day they’d met, the rain pelting fiercely against the stony walls of Understone keep, the wind battering the heavy, iron doors like a relentless force. He’d been pacing furiously to and fro upon hearing of the Silver blood inn’s well-loved resident bard himself being an underground Talos worshipper. 

Ondolemar had ground his teeth together, thinking back to the conversation he’d had with the soft and all too sentimental Jarl Igmund. The fool had turned a blind eye at Ondolemar’s proposition to throw the old bard head first into the Cidhna mine and let him spend the rest of his few years rotting away in the damp, cold heap of rocks. He’d thought it had been rather lenient compared to what he himself, personally, would have done. A bull whip and a public example came to mind. 

His soldiers followed behind him dutifully and obediently, scowling at every citizen of this pathetic excuse of a city on his behalf even whilst he was deep in thought. Too deep in thought to notice that small figure that ran into him and nearly knocked him off of his feet. 

The dogs barked wildly, he let out a snarl of rage as he regained his footing quite easily, the two thalmor soldiers behind him unsheathed their weapons, getting into defensive stances, ready to attack. 

Ondolemar managed to grab the front of the person’s cloak as they stumbled backwards, and if he hadn’t have caught them, he was sure they would have gone tumbling backwards down the steps, probably denting the stone in the process. He was half tempted to let them go. 

“Watch where you’re going, you lumbering fool- “

The high elf found his words were cut short as the hood fell from the stout person’s head and a pair of beady, golden eyes stared up at him matched with a grin framed by plump, peachy lips. 

He instantly pulled his hand away from the girl’s sopping, hide cloak as if he’d been scorched by fire and a scowl scrunched his superiorly bred features as he ran his eyes down her form suspiciously. He'd never seen her before despite spending quite a few years in Skyrim now, not just in Markarth either. She was small in height, near enough five foot, Breton, he thought to himself, but the golden hum of her skin which was wet from the rain spoke of another race, one that was sickly familiar to him. If there was one thing he hated more than the race of men, it was the cross breeding of man and Mer, one thing the girl stank of. She looked like any other Breton in his eyes, but it was clear from her glowing honey skin, the pointed tips of her ears that her dripping, shoulder length auburn hair tucked behind and her golden eyes that seemed to squint up at him with amusement. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Her voice was light hearted and jovial, a sound that was alien to him in this city that hated him, and he hated back. It reminded him of the salty sea breeze of the summerset isles, the smooth wines and smoother flesh worn by the tall Altmer beauties that he’d familiarised his body in. This girl with her young, round face and short, clumsy figure could never dream to hold a candle to the Altmer women back at home and yet there was something that tugged on his chest as he watched her jog away up the steps to the throne room to deliver Jarl Igmund’s shield to him. 

It was from that moment on that he decided he hated her.


	2. A party to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ondolemar recalls his second encounter with the woman, this time, somewhere closer to home.

The second time he’d seen her, had been at the party Elenwen was hosting at the Thalmor Embassy. He’d recognised her easily enough as he watched her clucking and fussing with the bride to be, Vittoria Vicci about something as meaningless and trivial such as her wedding planning like a pair of hens. He scowled at her over his chalice of wine as he took a long sip, the taste of it being much sourer that it had been previously. He found the bard’s flute playing to be increasingly obnoxious and worsening his mood until he watched the girl slip over to the bar, talking to the wood elf in hushed whispers. 

He narrowed his glowing green orbs at the Breton. What business did she have being at Elenwen’s party anyway? He came to the assumption after a few minutes deep in thought that she must have been given an invitation by Jarl Igmund himself, after all, obtaining an invitation to the Thalmor Embassy was no easy task. 

Before he could concentrate his attentions back to the woman who’d disappeared before his eyes, he found himself brought from his thoughts by the moronic East empire trading company businessman Redguard, Razelan, who stood with a stumble from the bench he was sat upon beside a guard who watched his every move. 

“Attention everyone!” His voice wavered as it was hit by an unsuspecting hiccup from the amount he’d had to drink, presumably. Ondolemar rolled his eyes. _Men can't hold their liquor._

“What on Earth are you doing, Razelan?” Elenwen drawled, folding her arms as all eyes fell on the very inebriated man. 

“Could I have your attention please! I have an announcement to make! I propose a toast to Elenwen! Our mistress! I speak figuratively, of course. Nothing could be more unlikely than that someone would actually want her in their bed. Although… most of you are already in bed with her! But again… I speak figuratively, of course!” Razelan seemed to be the only one laughing at this, a sight which would be quite pitiful if it didn’t already outrage the justiciar as he gritted his teeth and clenched the stem of his chalice in this golden fist. Such insolence! To even be so arrogant enough to think that a mere Redguard, _a human,_ was in the social position to be able to slander the first emissary and in doing so, slander the Aldmeri dominion itself, an offence that, if Ondolemar had it his way, would be punishable by death.

The guards instantly unsheathed their swords as they circled the man. Elenwen stepped forward, a furious sneer pulling at her face. 

“Leave him be, he’s already had more than enough to drink. Razelan, would you please sit down and make yourself scarce?” 

The man seemed oddly compliant as he sat, the grin on his face one of a man who’d said everything he’d wanted to say and felt completely unburdened. 

Ondolemar’s eyes travelled the party and found no trace of the girl he’d seen before. Elenwen was coming his way and he bowed his head. 

“Madam Ambassador.” 

The woman acknowledged his greeting with the nod of her head. 

“Ondolemar. I hope you’re finding the party as… interesting as I am.” 

Ondolemar looked to the mix of party guests with a less than welcoming scowl as he took another sip of his wine. 

“There’s certainly been a few advancements in the realms of men since the last gathering.” A half true statement. Whilst the civil war dragged on and the Stormcloaks began to be taking the upper hand, most of the time at the party, he’d been observing how much Maven Black briar was looking her age, or how much weight Erikur had gained, his expensive clothing struggling to contain his overhanging apron that came only from gorging on too much food, ale and probably women too. 

Elenwen seemed to purse her lips and eye the head justiciar. 

“There’s been another… interesting development in their rather dull activities as of late. I request that you indulge me in my gossip later on in my chamber. We have much to discuss.” 

Ondolemar knew exactly what that meant, and it sent a stir of excitement in between his legs. He held his head high and avoided her intense eyes as he attempted to brush off her words. 

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, Lady Ambassador, that you appear to have a guest missing.” 

Elenwen paused for a moment before an eerie smile stretched its way across her lips. 

“Oh, I do know. She’s being well introduced to the Thalmor hospitality by Rulindil as we speak.”

Her voice was low and Ondolemar felt his hackles raise surprisingly at the mention of Rulindil, the insufferable Thalmor interrogator and the mere idea of what he would be doing to the Breton.

“I should know by now that nothing escapes your eye, Lady Ambassador.” 

Elenwen ran a hand up his back as he stood that bit closer to him so he could feel her breath on his pointed ear. 

“You’re absolutely right, justiciar. My observant eye also caught your keen interest in the missing guest earlier in the evening. An honest mistake or too much wine, Ondolemar?” Her voice was husky and he felt himself tense, knowing to choose his words very carefully. He thought he’d been so careful too. 

“Just showing interest in a new face, I suppose, My lady. It doesn’t bode well to be too trusting of outsiders. Especially when they appear in the embassy.” He resisted the urge to suck in a breath as he watched her eyes trail over his face for any sign of a lie. She slumped and backed away with a smirk, taking a goblet off of one of the serving girls trays and sipping it. 

“A good point, Ondolemar. Well done.” 

He relaxed finally and took a sip of his own wine that he realised was still there. 

Later on that night, he lay next to Elenwen, bare underneath the bedding as she had rolled away from him some time ago after a rather passionless love making session. The party had ended hours ago, the guests being escorted by carriage into solitude where they would either go to their own beds or find rooms at the inn for the night, he couldn’t help but think over everything the lady Ambassador had told him about the investigations into the dragons. She suspected that the guest that had gone missing through out the party and was supposedly ‘being entertained at a different party with Rulindil in the basement,’ as Elenwen so crudely put it, was some sort of spy working for the last scattered members of the blades.

He looked to his right when he felt the female Altmer beside him stir and roll over, draping a golden arm over his covered waist before turning is head back so he could continue staring up at the ceiling. It would be hours until his eyes would finally shut. 

And when they would wake in the morning, it would be to the urgent knocking of a fist against the door. Which Elenwen would angrily tie a robe around herself and answer with a shout and many threats of castration for whomever dared disturb her so carelessly in the morning. It would be to her outrage that they would both be led to the basement after following the corpses of the embassy’s guards from the gardens to find Rulindil laying face down in a drying pool of blood as cold as ice with a piece of parchment pierced in place to his skull via a steel arrow that read, ‘ _thanks for a great party, see you next time!_ ’


	3. A new friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm kind of on a mad one with these chapters, hopefully it continues and we can actually get somewhere with this story. Hope you enjoy!

To call the Lady Ambassador furious was an understatement as she put a warrant out for the unknown party guest’s arrest and conducted a thorough investigation to find out everything she could about the spy that infiltrated the embassy, questioning every guest that made an appearance that night, near interrogating Razelan who swore that he’d been too drunk to remember anything. Which, Ondolemar could probably finally agree with the Redguard on something. 

He, himself had returned to his post in Markarth and despite Elenwen’s efforts, it had been too late. Esbern had been found and disappeared from Riften entirely without a single trace a apart from a massacre of dead thalmor soldiers and wizards left to rot in the ratway vaults before being found weeks later, half decomposed and being feasted upon by, ironically, rats. 

The high elf’s mood had become more foul than usual recently, even introducing daily beatings to the thalmor soldiers that followed at his heel through Understone keep if they even so much as whispered a word whilst he brooded within his thoughts. He attempted to put every effort he could into his work but found himself struggling to do so as he kept trying to piece together the face that haunted his mind. 

Months passed and things on the dragon investigation seemed still and unmoving. The investigation into the party spy seemed still and unmoving. Life itself seemed still and unmoving. Until Understone keep had a visitor. 

Ondolemar stalked through the keep after lecturing the Jarl yet again of the importance of obeying the dominion’s wishes of out ruling Talos worship in Skyrim after he allowed yet another citizen walk free of any punishment despite openly worshipping Talos. He kicked one of Igmund’s hounds whilst walking past the kitchens, listening with great pleasure as it yelped under his assault and whined. The other dogs lowered their heads, tails between their legs and he yet again turned and strolled past. 

“Stupid mongrels.” He hissed. He didn’t mind dogs, but he preferred the superiorly bred breeds of the summerset isles and not the scruffy Markarth mutts that ran amuck and chased their own tails. Much like the people, he thought to himself with a snort of amusement. 

The sound of the door to the keep opening shutting with a harsh slam didn’t manage to pull him from his thoughts but if that didn’t, the thudding and scuffing of boots on the steps did. His scowl turned and met with golden eyes as the all too familiar Breton half-blood smiled up at him playfully, her hair cut shorter than it was the first time he’d met her. In tow was a Nord woman in steel armour who scanned the area for potential threats, towering over the girl in front, before her brown eyes landed on him and she frowned, staring at him impartially, and a khajiit with mottled blue fur in full iron armour who grinned impishly at him as they passed. 

He felt his hackles rise as the cat winked at him, his green eyes narrowing in distaste at the blatant show of disrespect. The girl and her travelling party had spoken to the Jarl for some time before turning to leave. Before she could reach the bottom of the step he called to her. 

“You there, girl!” 

She turned, a questionable look on her face as she placed a hand on her hip. 

“Me?” 

Ondolemar glowered down at her with narrowed eyes. 

“Yes, you. I would like to have a word, if I may.” 

She seemed to think for a moment, looking over to her companions as they seemed to grown tense at the exchange, the khajiit stared at him, as if trying to make him uncomfortable and waver, a thought that he sneered at. 

She smiled before turning to the strange pair. 

“Go on ahead, I’ll meet you at the inn.” 

They seemed hesitant to leave, giving each other a wary look before leaving her there. She seemed smaller without them, he noticed, as she stood in her hide armour which fitted tightly to her and left little to the imagination. His eyes trailed over her stout form, the curved swell of her breasts, the soft and no doubt dough like curves of her body in general. He turned his nose up. She wasn’t much to look at, with her childlike face which in man terms would be rather plain and unimpressive. Her only redeeming features seemed to be what she’d inherited from her Altmer heritage. 

“Is there something you need, Justiciar?” Her tone was respectful, as sweet as pie but he saw through her act with a scowl. 

“Don’t think you can fool me with honeyed words, girl. I could have you arrested where you stand for your crimes against the embassy. Don’t think I don’t recognise you.” He was suddenly aware of his guards that gave each other questionable looks before reaching for their swords. He inhaled quickly. 

“Come. We will go to a more private location to discuss your treachery in depth.”

The girl raised an inquisitive eyebrow before hesitantly following him as he turned at the top of the steps and walked towards the hall leading to the residential chambers. 

The walk was silent as he led her through the hallways, past guards that watched their every move and up a set of stairs before he entered a room to which the girl assumed was his quarters. Ondolemar went to shut his door before glaring at his two guards. 

“You will go back to the throne room and keep watch in my absence. Do not fail me.” 

“But Justiciar-“ 

The justiciar gritted his teeth, eyes slanting dangerously. 

“Need I remind you of what happens when I lose my temper, soldier?” 

The young, male Altmer lowered his eyes to the floor. 

“No, sir.” 

“Good. Now, be gone with you.” 

With that, he slammed the door and turned, finding the girl leaning up against his desk with folded arms, watching his every move with a raised brow. He cleared his throat and raised his head, moving through the room with an element of grace that cannot be taught before pulling the cork out of a bottle of alto wine. It was cheap and bitter, unlike the summerset brands, but it would do for now. He poured himself a chalice before pouring another and offering it to her with an outstretched arm. 

“Care for a glass?” He found his voice rolling off his tongue huskier than normal and he cleared his throat once more to be rid of it. The girl smiled and declined politely, raising her hand and shaking her head. He walked over to the desk, offering her a seat on the chair next to it but found that she’d unintentionally, or maybe not so much, sat on his bed, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. 

“So, what can I do for you, sir?” 

Ondolemar eyed her, not liking where those words were leading his mind, he straightened papers on his desk before finding the one that he’d been looking for, handing it to her. She clasped it with both tiny hands, eyes scanning the parchment. 

“A warrant for your arrest, requested by Lady Ambassador Elenwen herself. With a hefty reward too. It seems that a spy infiltrated the Thalmor Embassy a few months ago, murdering quite a few of the Thalmor soldiers on her way before stealing confidential information, a spy which matches your exact description, leaving quite abruptly without saying goodbye.” 

She seemed to pause. 

“Hey, I left a note, didn’t I?” 

Ondolemar’s eyebrows raised, his jade eyes hooded as a soft smile tugged at his lips in victory. 

“Ah, so it was you. I must say, I was quite impressed. Such a large mess created by one so small, you must tell me your secret.” 

The girl followed his hand as he began writing elegantly with a long, feathered quill in ink along parchment. 

“And all it would take would be a single letter and I could have you locked up in chains for the rest of your short, miserable life.” He chuckled darkly, dipping the quill back in the ink once he’d finished before standing with the now rolled up bit of parchment. She never took her golden eyes off of him as he stalked over to a candle. 

“So what will you do now? Arrest me? Interrogate me, torture me?” She drawled, leg bouncing slowly. Ondolemar didn’t take his eyes away from the candle as he pressed the paper to the flame, watching it catch alight as he spun the roll in between long, lithe fingers. 

“You’re awfully inquisitive, aren’t you?” His tone had a hint of amusement and she cocked her eyebrow. “I like that.” 

He threw the burning roll of parchment into the open fire of the fireplace before turning back to her, his eyes once again cast over her, holding her trapped within their gaze as she cocked her head. 

“To say I was impressed by what I saw at the embassy was an understatement. And I don’t give compliments often.” 

The girl smiled, her leg bouncing quickened. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to flatter me, Justiciar.” Her voice cooed smoothly, and if he were in the playful mood, he would have detected the slightly flirtatious tone beneath the bravado. But seldom was he ever in a playful mood, especially now, when there was work to be done. 

“And with good reason, my lady. You see, I’ve been having a few issues recently in regard to my work here in Markarth. Ogmund the Skald. He’s old, respected, and I know for a fact that he worships Talos in his home. But the Jarl has been somewhat… hesitant to call for his arrest. I want you to break into his home and find evidence.” 

The girl leaned forward, elbows resting on her thighs as she seemed to think his words over, an intense look of concentration on her face. He watched her with studios eyes, observing every twitch, every breath and almost every thought that appeared upon of her face, as if he could read her mind before she came to and smiled at him. 

“Obviously this… task comes with great risk of being caught, right?” 

“Naturally.” He drawled. He smile widened and her eyes squinted. 

“So let’s talk reward. What do I get from this arrangement? Besides not being arrested for my crimes against the Aldmeri dominion, of course.” 

Ondolemar raised an eyebrow as he felt a smirk tug at his lips, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms haughtily. 

“What? Is that not enough? Would a large purse of septims soothe your burdens?” He found himself speaking almost softly and he reminded himself of who he was and what he was supposed to be doing. She grinned up at him like a wolf. 

“Now you’re speaking my language. Consider it done.” She went to stand and leave before turning on her heel, interrupting him as he sat at his desk and began dipping his quill in ink once more. 

“one more thing.” 

He looked up from his parchment and cocked his head. 

“Was that still not enough? I do believe you’ll bleed me dry at this point.” He hissed, not appreciating her gall for requesting more than he thought was already a very overly generous reward. She shook her head, short auburn strands softly swaying in time with her head movements. 

“No, that’s not it. What if I fail you and get caught?” 

He smirked and turned back to his desk, continuing to gracefully write out a letter to lady Elenwen about the ongoing search for the spy and how so far, things were unsuccessful. 

“Then you and I do not know one another and you spend a hefty year or so in Cidhna mine for being a thief and a naturist.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“What was that last part?” 

Ondolemar concentrated heavily on what he was doing before adding: 

“Whatever fight you must have been engaged in before coming here must have been difficult. You should fix your armour before the wrong person sees your breasts. They might not be so impassive about it.” 

She left in a hurry.


	4. A superiorly bred Mer has an Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't making much sense to Ondolemar. Until he does a bit of investigating of his own.

Ondolemar had continued to elegantly scrawl letters to the first emissary along parchment beneath the light of the tall, pillar candles into the dark hours of the night. The wind whipped branches of the few trees that grew within the stony city of Markarth against the window of his chambers incessantly and the elf felt his jade eyes squinting as he struggled to keep them open. Over and over, he would scratch the ink from the quill into the parchment until he was perfectly satisfied with the contents of the letter in regard to their newfound mutual friend.

_First Emissary,_

_It has come to my attention that the thief and assassin, warranted for arrest after the infiltration of the Thalmor Embassy based in Skyrim has made herself known in Markarth. You may rest easy knowing that she has been detained and is being questioned thoroughly and sufficiently before the criminal in question will be transferred to Northwatch Keep to answer to the crimes against the Aldmeri Dominion. I will personally see to it that action will be taken appropriately to ensure that all information obtained during the questioning and interrogation will continue to be made evident to yourself in place of the late Third Emissary, Rulindil._

_Consider this case ongoing until further notice, I will notify you when she departs to Northwatch keep so that you may decide whether or not to lend your instruction and involvement on the necessary punishment._

_Head of the Skyrim Justiciar faction,_

_Ondolemar._

And just like that, he would furrow his brows and scrunch the parchment up before throwing it into the fire. After the sixth parchment found itself screwed into a ball and cast into the flames, Ondolemar stood tall from his desk and finished the last of his wine in the tall chalice, throwing his head back and feeling the dark, tangy liquid warm his throat before burning into his stomach.

Before he could begin to start unclasping the straps of his armour, his attentions were brought to the oh so subtle sound of the door opening and closing. The only giveaway was the small gust of cold air making its way from the dark, craggy halls into his chamber. His eyes flitted about the room in a suspicious scowl before landing on the shadows in the far corner behind the bed, when an arm outstretched and dangling from the leather clad fist was the swinging abomination of an amulet that could only be the incriminating amulet of Talos belonging to none other than Ogmund the Skald. 

“Ah, and there we have it.” He practically purred, a wry smile forming on his thin lips. The girl stepped out of the shadows with a not so innocent grin stretching across her freckled face. 

“Easiest gold I’ve ever made.” 

He cocked a brow at her overly bold statement, deciding not to dwell upon the insinuation from her words that she’d done much worse for a few septims than break into a Nord’s house and steal one of his precious possessions under instructions of a sworn enemy of Talos worshippers everywhere. Either that, or she was mocking him. He cleared his throat. 

“Yes, well, this will be all I need to have Ogmund taken care of. I would like to personally thank you on behalf of myself the Thalmor for your assistance and cooperation. Now, the amulet, if you will please,” He stalked forwards, outstretching his long, gloved fingers, reaching out for the amulet before the girl pulled it back to her chest, narrowing her eyes up at him. 

“Oh no, I don’t think so. My reward as promised, to compensate for my time and effort.” She smiled sweetly at him as the scowl returned to his face. _Easiest gold I’ve ever made, she says._ He rolled his eyes and turned to the desk, pulling a hefty coin purse from the worn, oak surface and throwing it to her which she caught with one hand and a satisfied grin before tossing the amulet over, which he caught skilfully. After eyeing the coin purse, she humbly decided to sprawl herself out on his bed on her stomach and tip the contents out, slim, leather clad legs kicking back and forth childishly as she counted out the coin. 

Ondolemar folded his arms and eyed her curiously and somewhat guardedly. As his eyes trailed over her, he noticed with a hint of amusement that she’d indeed changed into an impossibly tighter set of leather armour, one that was shorter and did nothing to hide the perky rear that made his fingers twitch beneath their gloved confines. He growled, shaking his head in hopes that the thought would fly out but it remained as his eyes once again returned to the object of their fascination. 

The girl’s mouth hung agape as she counted the gold up to six hundred septims and turned her wide-eyed stare to Ondolemar who quickly broke free of his trance and once again took on the charmless façade of the superiorly pompous Mer. 

“Six hundred septims?” She exclaimed, “Gods above, you must be either the nicest or the simplest Altmer I’ve ever met!” 

Ondolemar’s face dropped and he felt his fingers bite into his robes. 

_“Out.”_ He hissed. The girl laughed and swept the coins back into the purse before sliding off the bed and heading towards the door. 

“Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you justiciar. Hopefully our path’s may cross again and I may lend my… _services_ to you once more.” She almost purred and the elf felt his breath hitch in his throat, intrusive thoughts and vivid imagery seeping into his mind like a foul plague. She let out another girly giggle but before she could reach for the handle, a large hand found its way to her shoulder and spun her, slamming her against the door. 

“Not so fast.” He snarled, eyes narrowing down at her with such intensity that it extinguished any happy feeling she had, replacing her smile with a nervous frown. He stooped low to hold her gaze, his glowing jade eyes capturing her golden ones in a heated stare. 

“What’s your name, little girl?” He growled out dangerously. 

“And what business is that of yours?” She teased him, like dangling a slab of meat in front of a starved wildcat. The elf straightened up, the atmosphere in the room seeming to dissipate somewhat as he turned. He supposed she was right there, and really what did it matter anyway? They would part ways and hopefully, that would be the last he’d see of the troublesome little thief. The less he saw the better, especially if he really did plan on keeping to his word of not detaining her. 

It would be just his luck that Elenwen herself would show up and find the two together in the miserable wretched city and have him hung in a gibbet from the tall walls of Northwatch keep for the birds to feast upon. After all, his luck has seen to it that he’d been trapped in the cesspit that is Markarth in the most mind numbing, infuriating job of proverbially kissing the Jarl’s arse in hopes of getting permission to incriminate every Talos heretic there was in the Reach, which was a lot. 

“Hmph. Leave now before I change my mind and have you detained for being an irritant, you swine.” 

Ondolemar made his way over to his wardrobe, unbuckling and pulling off his hooded thalmor robes and leaving him in a tightly fitted leather tunic. The girl raised a brow at his brashness and folded her arms, watching him with a smile and eyeing the comical military hair cut that would usually be hidden beneath his hood. She could spot patches where the hair seemed thinner and she wondered if maybe he was going bald? 

As if sensing her presence, her turned and looked at her round, smiling face with a bored expression, as if he were disappointed that it was her and not anyone else. 

“Still here, girl?” 

“Vivviene.” 

Ondolemar hesitated before arching a brow. 

“Pardon me?” 

“My name. It’s Vivviene. Well, Vivvi for short if you’d prefer.” She continued to smile at him and for once in his life, the justiciar was unsure of what to say. _Vivviene…_ The name held a certain charm, it was almost maiden-like, which he knew was ill fitting of the baby faced, vixen stood before him. He realised, by her sudden frown that he’d been glowering again and scolded himself for being so emotionally transparent. He was sure she would use another way of putting it.

“Your _full_ name?” 

Vivviene seemed to pause and pull a thoughtful face for a moment, he almost wanted to tell her not to think too hard. 

_“Vivviene the Dovahkiin_ or just _Dovahkiin_ are the ones mainly used by many of the people here in Skyrim. The Khajiits of Elsweyr would call me _Vahara tempest rider_ when I would sail the topal seas before I travelled across Tamriel.” She shrugged with a carefree smile, “But Vivvi will do, should you need a name to remember me by.”

Ondolemar watched her leave and close the door quietly without saying a word, but suspicion was swimming through his dark, jade eyes. She was there in an instant and gone in the next, leaving an uneasy feeling in the pit of the Altmer’s stomach. The blue morning light was beginning to illuminate the room, a misty morning fog settling outside of the keep, a chill in the air. He slid into his chair and tapped a bare, restless finger against the wood of his desk after removing his glove. Something wasn’t right, something was nagging his subconscious as he felt himself trying to decipher what she’d said. 

_Dovahkiin._

Why did that feel somewhat familiar to him?

“Dammit all!” He hissed under his breath. 

He slid a pile of neatly kept parchments over that he’d obtained as copies from the confidential files of the Thalmor Embassy and scanned his eyes over the papers, reading his own writing painstakingly in an attempt to find the answer to all of his questions. 

His eyes skimmed over a particular section, leaving it behind before instantly returning with keen interest. It was about the investigation into the dragons. He read through the notes about the suspected active Blades, Delphine and Esbern, the old Nord hiding out in Riften that they had been unsuccessful in capturing, the previously mentioned corpses of the Thalmor mages and soldiers that had to be dragged out of the ratway vaults enough evidence of that. 

Ondolemar’s brows knitted together at that previous thought. 

The infiltration at the Embassy. The slaughter of the Thalmor soldiers in Riften. 

“Vivviene.” He growled lowly to himself, eyes narrowing. She had to be involved more than he originally thought in all of this mess. He delved back into the notes, reading as much as he could and as quickly as he could, finding that his shaking hands were gripping the paper in pure, seething rage. 

“That little bitch!” 

He could feel his anger growing as the notes came to an end and he slammed his fist down on the desk, snarling. There was still something he felt he’d missed and he didn’t know what it was! He read back through the notes he’d written, going over the same four twelve pages again and again. _Blades, Delphine, Esbern. Blades, Delphine, Esbern._ Something was missing, it had to be. None of it was adding up. 

It was then when he saw it. 

He squinted his eyes and stretched his neck to get a closer look at the ink. Written on the third to last line of the ninth page, in the smallest of writing were the words, _Dragonborn._

He remembered he’d dismissed the idea with a scoff when reading through the original copies of the investigation notes, discarding it as a load of Nord nonsense at the time. And even now, he gave a dry wheeze of a laugh until the cogs in his mind began to turn. He stared at the stone wall in front of him with a vacant expression, completely ignoring the knocking on the door. 

“Ondolemar sir?” 

He completely fell into a trance. 

_Dragonborn, Dovahkiin._

_Dovahkiin, Dragonborn._

_Vivviene the Dovahkiin._

_Vivviene the Dragonborn._

With that thought, his mouth fell open, tongue drying up as he could do nought but stare into Oblivion at the world shattering epiphany that wracked his mind, body and spirit.


	5. For the love of Talos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are there any other ways that the dragonborn could possibly piss Ondolemar off? WARNING: Vivid death themes and explicit language in this one guys! You've been warned.

The auburn-haired half Mer pushed the door to Vlindrel hall open, instantly sighing as the heat hit her chilled body. Her nostrils flared as she practically skipped over to the hearth where she saw rabbit haunch stew bubbling and boiling in the large, iron pot. Thank Stendarr for Lydia.

“You’re late back. Run into trouble?” 

Vivvi turned, her cheek pouched with a bit of stew-soaked bread she’d stealthily pinched from the dining table as she stared wide eyed at Lydia who leaned up against the door to the alchemy lab with a look of concern on her face. Viv gulped and dipped the rest of the bread in, returning it to her mouth. Gods, she was hungry.

“I had to see a justiciar about an amulet.” Her voice was muffled as she chewed quietly. Lydia raised a brow. She always thought the girl reminded her of a mouse for some reason but now she knew why, as he observed her pouching her food in her mouth and nibbling guardedly on the bread and cheese before taking a seat at the dining table. The tall Nord rolled her eyes and walked over, taking a seat across from her and giving her a stern look. Viv met her gaze nervously and swallowed thickly. 

“So that’s what the damned elf wanted you for? To manipulate you into his Talos banning schemes?” She drawled. Viv pulled the cork out of a bottle of alto wine before taking a deep glug. 

“In his defence, he paid me a substantial reward. _Six hundred septims._ For one little Talos amulet.” She sniggered to herself in between sips. Lydia shook her head, groaning. 

“My Thane, your hypocrisy never fails to astound me.” 

Before Vivviene could reply, Inigo emerged from Viv’s bed chambers, yawning and stretching. His blood orange eyes landed on the girl and he grinned, sliding up beside her. 

“So you are alive, my friend! We thought you would surely be dead by now.” He purred. Viv rolled her eyes and folded her arms in front of her on the table. 

“Not just yet, Cat.” She yawned, suddenly feeling quite tired. “Lydia I’m going to the shrine later but I won’t be too long.”

Lydia gave her a dry look and crossed her arms. 

“You mean the shrine of Talos?” 

The half Mer rolled her eyes and Inigo watched the exchange with mild curiosity. 

“I feel like there is something I’m missing here.” 

Lydia gave the dragonborn a stern look before turning to the Khajiit with an all too sweet to be true smile. 

“The dragonborn thought it would be a good idea to assist in the arrest of the Skald from the Silver-blood inn for Talos worship. Vivviene, you do realise that you’ve just condemned an old Nord to a life long prison sentence for worshipping the same god as you?”

Inigo looked to Vivviene with pursed lips before they both started snorting out laughter that they were attempting to muffle behind the hands that were clasped around their mouths, much to Lydia’s distaste. 

“The pair of you should be ashamed of yourselves.” She growled, standing from the table to stir the stew. Viv stopped laughing and blinked up at the woman. 

“I’m the dragonborn, but I’m not a good person, Lydia. You of all people should know that.” 

“My friend, you are a _terrible_ person. It seems to be a cruel joke that the gods made you the hero of Skyrim.” Inigo sneered, picking up a raw slab of salmon with his claws and tearing into it with sharp teeth. Viv shrugged.

“What can I say? The divines like to play their jokes. And the Daedric princes eat that shit right up. Sanguine thought it was hilarious.” 

“Yes, well, we’re still not allowed in the temple because of that.” Lydia spoke up after cooling off, chopping up vegetables and adding them to the stew. The short golden skinned girl chortled to herself. 

“Ah, that was a great night.” With a slap of her knees, she stood from the table and made her way into her bedroom, kicking the door shut. She sluggishly peeled the leather armour off, tossing it in a heap on the floor next to the previously torn hide armour she’d been wearing before she’d had to sneak back in to change during the night. In just a shirt and breeches, she slipped into her bed and closed her tired eyes, drifting into what started off as a dreamless sleep. 

_The woman screamed in pain as she threw her head to and fro, sweat glistening on her forehead as it her auburn hair stuck to her skin. Thick veins protruded from her neck and forehead as she strained, gritting her teeth as she sobbed, tears rolling down her flushed cheeks. She gripped hold of the wood of her bed until her nails splintered and broke, bloody. It seemed to be endless, the pain and the torment. Were there no gods that would hear her pleas to end her suffering? Again, pain rippled through her, as if testing her mettle and she screamed, throat raw and dry. She cried and cried, wishing it would all just end._

_An elderly woman dabbed her forehead with a dirty rag before opening the woman’s legs wide with a force so harsh it nearly split her in two and she howled, feeling the muscles burn. The old woman bent down, taking her hand and fisting it in between the woman’s thighs, ignoring the water and excrement that coated her hands. The woman just sobbed and screamed, chest heaving._

_“You are ready, now push!”_

_With a soul splitting scream, the woman heaved, feeling ripples in her rotund stomach as her face turned blue in stress. This went on for hours until she let out weak whimpers, eyes vacant. Before long, the cries of a new born babe erupted from the quiet and the old witch pulled the thing, covered in mucus from between the woman’s lifeless legs. The baby screeched, completely purple and the cord was hacked at with a blunt knife until it was severed._

_The elderly witch turned her head to the side, old eyes peering into the dark hall beyond the birthing chamber until she found what she was looking for._

_“Come, child! Take him from me so I can cover the body!”_

_A child no older than three hesitantly toddled into the dim light, her legs long for her age which made it so much easier for her to walk over into the room she was scared to enter. Golden cheeks were flushed pink as she hiccupped quiet sobs. Tears fell down her chubby cheeks and snot trailed from her nose as she stared at the pale, gaunt face of the woman on the bed whose head was turned to her, her dead eyes staring at the girl, mouth agape and tongue lolling out and turning blue._

_The old woman growled and grabbed the girl who screamed, forcing the wailing baby into her arms before shoving a finger in her face._

_“I swear by the nine, if you don’t listen to me, I’ll beat you bloody! Now go, bathe the child and give it to Shelti so he can feed!” She snarled, smacking the girl across the head, catching her pointed ear. The girl sobbed and took one last look at her mother, flies began to gather in the humid environment and landed on the body._

_The old woman rolled her sleeves up, as she muttered to herself. “Insolent whore makes for an insolent child. May the nine be merciful on your soul, Arbice.”_

_The old woman snapped her head to the door as she still heard the crying infant. The girl ran out before she could get another beating._

_“So help me, Vivviene you useless girl, I’ll have your hide!”_

Springing up in the bed the half Mer heaved out breaths, her beady golden eyes were wide as they flitted around the room in panic. Viv swallowed a breath and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the cold, lifeless body that sometimes came back to haunt her. She threw the furs off of the bed, ripped her shirt off and poured water from a jug into the silver basin on her dresser, splashing the cool water on her face and under her arms, letting out a deep breath to calm herself. _The past is in the past. There’s nothing you can do to stop it so just move on and forget about it._ She tried reassuring herself.

“You seem… troubled.”

Vivviene’s head snapped around as electricity crackled through her fingertips dangerously. The blue furred khajiit held his hands up in defence from where he was sat in the corner, licking his lips nervously. The girl’s shoulders slumped and she lowered her hand, caring not for her state of undress as the khajiit didn’t even bother to lower his eyes from her face. 

“Just a bad dream, that’s all.” She sighed, feeling herself begin to relax again. Grabbing a bar of juniper berry soap, she began washing herself, dropping her breeches in the process and that was when Inigo’s amber eyes began trailing her body. He scanned his eyes over every twirling tattoo that covered her upper body and every scar that hid beneath them so stealthily.

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.” 

“No.” 

The firm tone of her voice made Inigo’s muzzle frown and Viv sighed before giving him a smile. 

“No, honestly I’m fine. Just in need of a bottle of brandy and a dragon to slay.” She grinned before drying herself with a thread bare towel and opening her wardrobe. Inigo slumped back, rocking the chair on it’s rear legs and stared intensely at the back of her head.

The girl stepped into her scale armour, strapping it up and tightening it until it fit like a glove and pulled her gauntlets on. She turned and pulled the dragon scale bow out of her chest along with the quiver and an ebony war axe which she strapped to her belt and threw a patched, hide cloak around her shoulder before strapping her bag around her shoulders. 

“I won’t be long. I’ll go to the shrine, find a dragon to kill and then I’ll be back and we can go and have a few drinks at the inn. How does that sound?” 

Inigo stared at her for a moment, it unnerved Vivviene and she attempted to break the ice with a friendly grin. 

“Do you want me to come with you, friend?” 

Viv shook her head, short auburn locks swaying in the movement. 

“No, I need a bit of time to myself. I’ll only be a couple of hours anyway.” 

When she left Vlindrel hall, she felt a sense of relief wash over her and she took a bite into the apple that she’d grabbed on the way out. Looking around to see nobody was paying her any attention, she stalked down the steps from her house and crossed the river, making her way up to the shrine, sliding around the corner and making her way inside. 

Across the city, Ondolemar paced the halls of Understone keep furiously, not even sparing a glance at the mongrels that barked and growled at him as he went. He was too deep in thought, too burdened by the impending feeling of doom that plagued him. He had her right there and he let her get away without a second thought. He hissed as he scolded himself. _Well, if you don’t do it, the Ambassador will._ In fact, Elenwen would have his head on a spike. 

“Justiciar,” He turned to find one of his guards jogging up the steps. “I’ve been to her house, she wasn’t there. Just the Nord and the Khajiit.” 

Ondolemar gritted his teeth. 

“Damn her. No matter. At least we know she’ll return. Well done, Voraiel you may resume your duties.” 

The soldier bowed his head in surprise, not anticipating the praise his superior had bestowed upon him. The other guard, Nirlda furrowed her brow at the odd behaviour of the justiciar. It was uncommon for him to be in any mood that wasn’t foul and venomous. In fact, they’d been posted in Markarth for years now and it’d been the same every day. _Guard Ondolemar, follow Ondolemar, get verbally abused by Ondolemar, listen to Ondolemar curse and swear in his chambers at how much he hated Nords and Skyrim._

The head justiciar turned and began his pacing again, once again finding himself deep in thought. He would bring her in for questioning, nothing more. After all, he wasn’t certain that she was even this supposed dragonborn the Nord imbeciles seemed so taken by. She didn’t look like what he imagined a dragonborn would look like. Although, if the dragonborn was meant to look like a pathetic little half blood, sneak thief female then he found it highly hypocritical and slightly amusing. Trust a Nord to hate the elves and worship a half elven woman. 

He made his way out of the keep, his eyes scanning over the city as he tug his nails into the rails. He took a moment to internally spit on the people of Markarth before something caught his eye atop the steps leading to the temple of Dibella. He squinted, using a gloved hand to block the sun from obstructing his vision. _Is that..?_ No. He twisted his hand around the rail as he glared at none other than Vivviene tucking an amulet of Talos securely underneath her cloak, a triumphant grin stretching across her round face. He let out a roar of rage and watched her jump, her eyes widening in the distance as she locked eyes with him. He could see her feebly shrink as he screamed for the guards. 

“Get her! Get the heretic!” 

It was at that moment when she turned in the opposite direction of him and ran as quick as she could down the steps, sprinting to the gate before heaving it open.

Vivviene panted, attempting to stop to catch her breath before she heard the rattling of armour and she once again began running. She’d finally outrun them after another ten minutes but by the gods was she tired. It was also at that moment she heard the thunderous roar from the sky, feeling the gust of wings and the shaking of the ground upon the dragons landing. She slumped and groaned. 

“Oh fuck!” She cried, pulling her war axe from her belt and sending the magika crackling into her fingertips. The dragon screeched and skulked towards her, making the ground shake with every heavy step of its gigantic talons. Viv sent a crackling ball of electric magika hurling towards its golden scales as it raised it’s head, preparing for a shout. 

The battle seemed to go on forever until she managed to get a good shot of it’s eyes, slicing her axe in a downward swipe, taking one huge eyeball out in the process. The beast let out a mighty roar of pain as blood seeped out of the empty socket and Viv took her chance and gripped a horn, pulling herself up onto its head and held on for dear life as it attempted to shake her off. With a loud war cry, she plunged her axe into its skull and was thrown forward as if fell limp. She landed with an _oof,_ holding her arm as she felt it dislocate from her shoulder with a sickening _pop_ , clenching her teeth to attempt to avoid screaming. 

She huffed and panted, watching with one eye open as the scales began to burn and disperse from the giants hulking form until a rush of glowing energy seeped into her and she inhaled deeply, welcoming the pleasant sensation. She revelled in the power as it coursed through her body, entering her where it could and filled her with a newfound pleasure until she flopped backwards onto the grass of the reach, humming in the afterglow. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath until it was over and she rolled over, still holding her arm. 

She sat for hours within the skeletal carcass of the dragon, deciding it would be best to wait until dark to head back to collect her followers. So instead, she sat and watched the deer and elk frolicking in the grassy planes of the reach. She listened to the chirping of birds and crickets and smiled. This was where she was truly at peace. She thought back to Markarth, to the Altmer justiciar and how stupid she’d been to flaunt her amulet out in the open like that. Now she was sure she’d be joining Ogmund the Skald on his trip to Northwatch, she might even tell him it was her that turned him in and have him beat the life out of her. 

It’d be a better way to go than at the hands of the Thalmor, who were known far and wide to be particularly ruthless in their punishment methods. Her thoughts were back with Ondolemar all of a sudden and she felt her lips twitch in an amused smile. The old Altmer was definitely a curious elf. He was by far the most easy going justiciar she’d ever met, almost too easy going for a thalmor justiciar. Almost to the point of being friendly, up until he got a full view of her Talos amulet. She wouldn’t have minded so much if she’d gone through the trouble to buy it brand new because she was such a dedicated Talos worshiper but she literally stole the thing off of a dead body that she’d come across in a cave. 

She laid back in the grass and closed her eyes. He was probably one of the more attractive elves she’d met, if not the most attractive. Which said a lot because she had a definite soft spot for dark elves according to the notches on her bed posts. But Ondolemar was an oddity. He was tall, refined, suave, aloof. Even if he was balding. She snorted. The Altmer had a definite charm and every time she caught him gawking at her ass when he thought she wasn’t looking, she’d felt a spark of excitement in between her legs. She shook her head into the grass. The Altmer was probably used to the finest elf women, with long hair and legs and perky breasts. She palmed her hair with her good arm. 

Maybe she should grow her hair out? It would usually be a lot longer if she hadn’t shaved it all off to get rid of her dreadlocks after leaving Elsweyr. She pouted in contemplation. She quite liked it that length. It was short but practical. Especially during battle. _But the longer it is, the better it is to pull._ She tutted at her own thoughts. How crass. 

She opened her eyes and shot up. _Am I seriously contemplating bedding the head thalmor justiciar?_ She blinked. She shook her head again, scowling. There was no way in hell, at the end of it all, this Altmer was a grumpy old git who would send her packing to Northwatch keep the moment he got any chance. No, she would try and keep her distance from now on, no matter how fun he was to tease. 

It was at that moment when her thoughts were interrupted by what sounded like singing and merry making coming from the road. Her head snapped in the direction of the music and she stood, crouching out from beneath the dragon and stalking over to the road where she was met by a group of very drunk Nords. 

“Well met, friend! It’s good to see another merry soul enjoying this fine day!” The blonde one slurred, glugging on his bottle of mead as one of the darker Nords performed his rendition of one of Viv’s favourites, _Ragnar the Red._ She grinned. 

“Ah, indeed! Tell me, do you have a bottle to spare, friend? I could definitely use one.” 

The men cheered. 

“Of course, is there any way you’d rather spend the day than drinking Honningbrew mead?” One joked, throwing her a bottle which she pulled the cork from and raised in the air in a cheers before taking a deep drink from.


	6. A difficult position

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ondolemar finds himself stuck in a difficult situation of his own creation and he begins to wonder where his heart truly lies in the matter.

Ondolemar tapped his fingers against the table repetitively as he waited for the first emissary, his usually well-kept finger nails were a bitten mess. The insufferable Jarl Igmund had declined when the high elf had requested a warrant be released for the dragonborn’s arrest but that hadn’t stopped Ondolemar from tipping off the guards of Markarth to bring the girl straight to him upon her arrival back into the city and the Thalmor soldiers that spent their days at his heel were now patrolling his streets upon his orders to keep an eye out for any sign of her. 

The Khajiit and Nord that had been questioned beforehand by his soldiers hadn’t been seen in the city since but the light of the candles in Vlindrel hall through the cold nights showed the house was far from empty. But without permission from the Jarl, there was little that the elf could do to bring them in for further questioning. A notion that made the justiciar furious. 

_The time will come when man will be enslaved under the rule of Mer and that miserable idiot of a Jarl will be the first to be made an example of._ The elf thought to himself with a cruel sneer on his lips. 

As much as he wanted to relax and sip the sweet wine and revel in the luxuries the embassy had to offer, he couldn’t help but feel anxious in the quiet of Elenwen’s solar. The girl hadn’t returned to Markarth for two months and upon his travels up to the embassy, he’d felt his eyes searching for her on every turn of the road, as if she’d just wander out of the wilderness and give him the opportunity to wring his hands around her skinny little neck. His green eyes flitted to the bar where a Breton woman, stood much to the same height as the girl who had caused him such a headache the past couple of months, as still as a statue. She chose to avert her gaze to the floor with a nervous look beneath her mop of brown hair. He could only assume what had happened to the Bosmer that previously worked behind the bar.

_A wise decision._ Ondolemar narrowed his eyes at her, catching himself shamelessly comparing the Breton before him to the half Mer he’d come to detest so much. She was pretty even for elven standards, prettier than Vivviene, her hair in an updo that flattered her heart shaped face and revealed her bright blue eyes. His eyes trailed down to her figure which was shapeless but petite and rivalled more of the Altmer women’s physique than that of a Breton. Upon noticing his scrutinous gaze was on her, the girl bit her lip and blushed. His eyebrows furrowed and he chose that as his chance to strike. 

“You, girl. More wine and leave the bottle this time.” 

The Breton jumped at his request and hurried over; he took a moment to admire her in the tight, mossy green dress she was wearing. 

“Yes sir.” She mumbled softly and subordinately, bowing her head as she poured more wine in his glass and felt her face heat up at their close proximity. Ondolemar pursed his lips as he inhaled the lavender scent of the girl’s perfume, finding it a bit too overpowering and spicy for his tastes. Instead, he thought back to the soft smell of juniper berry soap that had invaded his nostrils as he’d had the grinning half Mer against the door and he felt his nails digging into the arm of the chair he’d been sitting on. 

“You will come to my chambers tonight and you will not tell a soul, do you understand?” He hissed, feeling something awaken in him as the girl nodded eagerly and returned behind the bar bashfully. Just in time for the door to screech open ahead of the Altmer. In walked Elenwen, shifting her calculating stare around the room before her eyes settled on Ondolemar and a face that he never thought he’d see in Skyrim. He frowned. 

“Ondolemar, what a pleasure to have you join us for this meeting. I’m sure you’ve met our newest arrival before, have you not?” She spoke with an air of Grace and honour that he was sure if Vivviene were there, she’d call it pompousness whilst making a face. He banished the girl from his thoughts, hopefully once and for all. 

“Justiciar, how _wonderful_ it is to see you again, and so far from your grand office in Alinor. If I may ask, where is it that you are located now?” The detestable Altmer, Ancano asked with a wry smirk. Ondolemar frowned, his eyes turning bored as he refused to take the elf’s bait. 

“Ancano, how long as it been? You seem to be a lot… _healthier_ looking since we last met.” He sneered, eyes lowering to the other Mer’s belly. Ancano pursed his lips as he sat around the table with Elenwen. He narrowed his eyes at Ondolemar in a silent touché and folded his arms over on the table. The first emissary sent the two a warning look, making them stop their trivial banter at once. 

They talked for what seemed like hours about the advancements of their investigations and Ondolemar’s efforts to abolish Talos wordship in the Reach. The hidden shrine in Markarth had been found and demolished thanks to the carelessness of the dragonborn and Ogmund the Skald had been taken away to Northwatch Keep where he would be dealt with accordingly. 

“Incredible, Ondolemar. A definite improvement since we last met. And in such little time too after years of little to no success.” Ondolemar ignored the biting statement of the first emissary, instead, he sipped his wine and revelled in the almost compliment. “And do tell, what methods did you use to gain such a swift victory in your work?” He tensed. And once again, the damned cross breed came to mind.

“Well… It seems that the Nords are most susceptible to gold, Lady ambassador. It didn’t take long for them to talk after a hefty purse of septims was sent their way.” 

Elenwen seemed to make an impressed face before she thought over his words and scoffed. 

“Men are such weak-willed creatures to be so easily swayed. I’m not at all surprised.” 

Ondolemar let out a half-forced laugh into his chalice and seemed to relax before Ancano saw his opportunity and took it after watching the exchange with predatory eyes.

“How very diplomatic of you to use such a passive method, Justiciar. And why, pray tell, would you waste your hard-earned coin rather than use more, _inexpensive,_ procedures to make a man talk?” 

Elenwen was about to scold Ancano for interrupting their council when she actually seemed to ponder upon his statement. Ondolemar respected the first emissary more than anyone in Skyrim, but by the gods the Mer could be a simpleton at times. It was a good thing she had others to do the thinking for her. 

“There are more economical ways indeed, my dear Ancano. But unfortunately, where I am posted, I have been given direct orders to gain permission from the idiotic Nord who rules the city before making such decisions.” Before Ancano could interject again, Elenwen sent Ondolemar a sympathetic frown and her ever cold eyes seemed to hold such pity, it was almost patronising.

“I know your situation is less than favourable of what we, as superior Mer, should be expected to reside in and I shall see to it that your efforts are rewarded highly. Which is why after your incredible efforts these past few months, you should expect a promotion to head Justiciar in Solitude and have your original post replaced by another of your choosing.” 

At this, Ancano for once seemed speechless and Ondolemar smirked at the other Altmer victoriously but felt it drop when Elenwen turned to Ancano.

“So Ancano, tell me of the news regarding the spy you seem to have come in contact with at the College.” 

At this, Ondolemar froze and nearly dropped his wine all over his lap but managed to correct his lapse in judgement which thankfully, escaped Elenwen’s attention. Ancano, however, had his eyes on Ondolemar the entire time and a wretched smirk stretched across his face. As if he knew. 

“You mean the unidentified blades spy that infiltrated the embassy and is currently residing in the College?” His golden eyes lingered on Ondolemar, that smirk on his face defying all odds by growing even bigger. Before Elenwen could follow his gaze to the other more rigid high elf, Ancano seemed to notice and instantly, his stare flitted back to the ambassador.

“Yes, she seems to match the description and is studying under the name of _Vahara tempest rider._ A most peculiar little find indeed. It would appear the girl to be of mixed Breton and Altmer heritage.”

The first emissary seemed to pull a face of disgust and recoiled instantly. 

“How utterly _revolting!_ Ancano, I trust that the girl has an immediate appointment with the headsman at Northwatch keep or should I be in need of a new advisor at the College?” She hissed and Ancano stumbled over his words as he attempted to reason with the enraged and repulsed ambassador. Ondolemar seemed deep in thought as he rubbed the slight stubble on his chin with a slow finger. _Clever girl…_ He internally praised her briefly for using a different name. She knew she must have a guard up after their run in the last time and felt nearly proud that he could gage that reaction from her. But still, she was wise to be careful, especially around Ancano who he knew better than anyone would do anything to make his way up the Aldmeri dominion ladder.

“Well, that was my original plan, until this _Vahara_ tempest rider revealed herself to be none other than the Dragonborn after proclaiming herself so and demonstrating her voice to gain access to the college.” 

Ondolemar wanted to rub his temples but refrained from doing so. _What was I thinking? She’s an imbecile._ Elenwen seemed to hum in thought and sat back in the chair she had currently been holding onto tightly in anger. 

“I see your dilemma, Ancano.” The other Altmer nodded his head in agreement. “This would prove it most difficult especially with the dragonborn’s connections to Skyrim.” At Elenwen’s words, Ancano’s smirk returned and his eyes flitted back over to Ondolemar. 

“I completely agree, lady ambassador.” Ondolemar struggled to keep calm and he inwardly growled. 

“What are your orders, my lady?” He wanted more than anything than for this vexing conversation to be finished with, finding his headache returning. Elenwen seemed to pause for a moment, her handsome brow knitting in thought. Ancano waited patiently for her command but not without his eyes returning to Ondolemar who scowled back at him. _He’s definitely up to something._

“Monitor her movements and report back anything and everything she does. Behaviour, associates, relations. I want to know everything about this dragonborn. I’m trusting you, Ancano. And you, Ondolemar. Should your paths cross, I want you to be vigilant with keeping a close eye on her and reporting back to me immediately. Should she become a threat to the Thalmor and Almeri dominion, it could prove to be worrying indeed.” With that, the first emissary stood, drinking the rest of her own wine. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some letters that aren’t going to write themselves.” 

She exited the room with an air of dignity and grace that seemed so alien to the cold, barbaric land that they’d found themselves in. Ondolemar turned to Ancano’s smirking face with a glare, pushing his chair out and placing his hands on the table to lean over. 

“What on earth are you up to, you snake?” He growled. The other Altmer’s smirk never left his face as he picked at his nails, as if he was completely unfazed by the other elf who glared thunderously down at him. 

“Nothing at all, my dear Ondolemar. It’s just that it’s come to my attention that you may be more familiar with this troublesome little half blood than the first emissary is aware of.”

Ondolemar fell back into the chair, crossing his arms and sneering at the silver haired mage. 

“I’m sure I’ve no idea of what you speak.” He scoffed out a laugh. “By Auri-El, have you gone mad perhaps? I hear that lack of intimacy can do that to an old Mer.” 

Ancano threw his head back and laughed. 

“Lack of intimacy is it, Ondolemar? Why, it was only after the throes of passion that your little mongrel whore decided to tell me of how I reminded her of another Altmer she was familiar with. One in Markarth with, hmm, how did she put it?” He put a finger to his chin in mock thought, “ _A face as sour as jazbay grapes and eyes the colour of troll dung._ Ah yes, that was it. When she’d said that, I knew there was only one Mer I could think of that so accurately matched such a description.” 

Ondolemar wasn’t sure what he should be more aggravated about but found that the mere notion that this detestable Mer had put his hands on Vivviene first made his nails bite into the sides of his chair and his teeth grind together in pure rage. He didn’t spare a thought to Ancano’s cheap jibe, just the image of her underneath anyone but him had him seething like a wild animal. He glared at the smug elf for a few moments, his chest heaving up and down before he finally managed to purse his lips tightly. 

“What is it you’re after, you half-witted lecher?” He hissed under his breath, finding the guards of the room beginning to shift uncomfortably at what they could hear of the conversation. Ancano laced his fingers together with a feline grin. 

“Well, originally I was going to tell Elenwen straight away but after we began to discuss other subjects, I do believe you hold something that interests me more.” 

Ondolemar narrowed his eyes. Wondering what exactly the Altmer was up to. 

“And that is?” _If he says anything more of Vivviene, I may strangle him where he sits._

“I want your position in Solitude.” 

Ondolemar bristled and felt his world come crashing down around him. He’d spent years in that craggy little city, hating life day in day out and the moment he had the opportunity to leave for somewhere better, it was to be bartered off to keep his head. For if Elenwen found out he’d been hiding his affiliation with the dragonborn from her, that would be the best possible outcome. He solemnly lowered his head and sighed. 

“I’ll speak with Elenwen tomorrow morning.”

Ancano stood victoriously and straightened his robes about to leave before turning back to Ondolemar. 

“It’s nothing personal Ondolemar. But a piece of advice for future reference. Don’t think you can hide things from the Thalmor. It never ends well. And if you’re that taken by the girl, just have your way with her already to get it out of your system. If anything, for what she lacks in bloodline, she certainly makes up for in skill with her mouth.” He sniggered. “But I shan’t tell a soul. This conversation never happened. As long as you keep to your end of the bargain.” And with that, he left. Ondolemar hung his head weakly as he heard the door slam shut. 

_What have I gotten myself into?_ All he could think of were the crude images filling his mind of Vivviene the little half Mer completely naked, eagerly sucking on Ancano’s- _No! Stop that filth!_ He felt ashamed at the feeling stirring in his breeches and could see the hardness becoming evident as he looked down. He wanted nothing more than to find the girl and strangle the life out of her for causing such conflicting feelings within him. He’d lost everything that he’d been working for the many years he’d been in Skyrim. A reputable position in a prosperous city. Solitude wasn’t anything compared to the golden shores and beautiful city of Alinor but it was certainly better than Markarth. 

Taking the bottle of wine and his chalice, he left the room, sending the Breton behind the bar a smouldering look to follow which she did eagerly.


End file.
